I move to step away, careful to keep my back to him, but his strong hand clasps my elbow.
“That’s why you ran?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
“Am I?”His hold on my elbow loosens and I lower my arm, but still stand there, too close.The thin layer of dust on the blueprints is like grit over silk, and I focus on what’s important.
“I left because I had a job.”
Never mind that he’s touching on truths.I didn’t want to go, and I didn’t say goodbye because that felt too hard.It shouldn’t have been.I could’ve told him that I needed to get home and I’d call him and then it would’ve been a closed loop.He would’ve found the number I gave him to be incorrect and he would’ve assumed I wasn’t interested and it would’ve effectively closed the door, but I left mysteriously, without a goodbye, and maybe a small part of me hoped he’d search, but I also believed he would move on.
And now?
There’s a job to be done and my colleagues are in the building next door.
Hormones are playing with my head and creating an aching need that it’s not the time or place to satisfy.
I stride to the billiard table and unroll the plans, spreading them across the smooth surface.
“Can you turn on the light?”A forest green glass light hangs over the table, and I need the light to better see the faded blue lines.
Seconds later, golden light coats the faded paper and I pinpoint the entrance, gaining my bearings, noting the walls, the hallways, elevator shafts, and rooms.
“Perhaps it will work best if I study these while you give me the tour.”
He moves to stand beside me, close enough that his sleeve brushes my arm.“Of course.”His tone has shifted to something more professional, though the thermal energy between us still radiates like the barrel on a smoking gun.“We’ll start with the main floor and work our way down.”
I fold the blueprints carefully, creating manageable sections.“Lead the way.”
The tour begins methodically.Adrien shows me through the main entertaining areas—the grand salon with its crystal chandeliers and velvet furnishings, the smaller intimate rooms with their own unique themes, the bar area with its gleaming mahogany surfaces.Everything matches the blueprints perfectly.The building’s bones are solid, the renovations expertly done.
The hallways are wider than they appear on the blueprints, with recessed lighting that creates pools of warm amber.Cameras are discreetly positioned at regular intervals—for security, Adrien explains, though I wonder what else they might capture.
“Access to the footage?All in the control room?”I ask casually.
“Restricted to myself, management, and the security team.Privacy is paramount.The fourth and fifth floors house the private suites,” Adrien explains as we climb the curved staircase.“Each room has been designed for specific...preferences.”
The air shifts as we ascend—heavier, headier.That bergamot and cedar scent intensifies, layered now with something warmer.Vanilla.Amber.Even lust, apparently, is branded here.
The silence on these floors is different from the rest of the building.Thicker.More deliberate.Soundproofing, I realize, designed to contain whatever happens behind these doors.But with the club closed, with no members present, the silence feels almost sacred.Like walking through a cathedral built to pleasure rather than prayer.
We pass open doors that hint rather than show—a silk rope coiled neatly on a marble console, a velvet mask resting beside champagne flutes, the ghost of perfume hanging in the air.The building itself feels alive, pulsing with remembered heat even in its emptiness.
“How are the rooms assigned?”I ask, keeping my voice professional.
“Members book in advance.We have a concierge who manages the suites, coordinates preferences, ensures everything is prepared.”He pauses at a door with a small brass plate:Venetian.“Tiffany, our concierge, would normally handle this kind of tour, but given it’s Monday…”
“She’s not here,” I finish.
“No one is.”His gaze holds mine for a beat too long.“Just us.”
The implication hangs between us.Alone.In a building designed for intimacy.Surrounded by rooms that exist solely for the exploration of desire.
He scans his access card and the door opens soundlessly.
The room beyond stops me cold.
It’s opulent without being gaudy—all jewel tones and rich textures.Deep sapphire velvet curtains frame floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city.A four-poster bed dominates the space, its posts carved from dark mahogany, its linens the color of cream and champagne.Candlelight—motion-activated, I suspect—flickers from recessed alcoves, casting amber shadows across walls painted the deep blue-green of Venetian lagoons.
